Probably the fifth five

Today i have everything all upsadaisy as I’ve got a kid to take to a dentist, and a highly important sports event in the life of my children. So, everything is on hold, and there is no work because of it. It feels like a pre-holiday, the big event this afternoon at two. So, i’m cleaning weird things, and looking at the clock a lot.

i just wiped down a toddler chair that i will use in three weeks. it will promptly be covered with other things i am cleaning. fo sho.

i’m letting my kid zombie out on the screen while she waits for the dentist appointment. she does better than i do, the dr. is constantly checking on me. i am so very damn concentrated on her while she’s getting her cavity filled, like, i’m singlehandedly keeping her alive.

it is utterly ridiculous. i know.

I’m just looking forward to the donuts afterwards. and the possibility of planning out her birthday party which is coming and buying all the flits and flats at the party store to make the house an even bigger circus than it is. There will be crepe paper, there will be circus.

Around this time, i got distracted and stopped writing and a whole lot of time passed us by. Now its nighttime. The game was won. GO WILDCATS!! And I thought these things over the course of the day:

Living with a high level of threat. What does it do to you? How do you shake it off when its just below the surface and you can barely shift it, can barely get a handhold…?

what is red velvet? I mean, why is that a flavor? ITs not a flavor! Its a color, a thing, but not a flavor! I insist.

my daughter celebrated the beginning of birthday week with two donuts. a taste test to see which was truly better. double chocolate or chocolate glazed… I’m not going to spoil it for you.

I LOVE this small town. I love it. I’m an outsider looking in but I LOVE it.



Five minutes, the fourth

Well, here it is. I actually sat and waited for the clock to tick over into a number happier with addition, so i could do the five. This is appalling and I completely blame my mathematics education. Completely. I am a big fan of blame. I talk about it all the time. And shame. love that one too.

My best friend in the world has a lot in common with me, and many differences, and vice versa. She has started sending me helpful articles on how to deal with shame. She also demands that I turn the heat on, vaccuum more often and buy ACs for every window that there is. HELLO WISCONSIN!!

I’m cool with that. She’s my best. We’ve sorrowed many times over the fact that we most likely can’t flipflop our sexual preferences. Many times. But when you know, you know. you know?

So we muddle on. She is very funny, and man, laughing is a great thing. we should all do it more.

This week I restarted my chicken chores. Feeding them, collecting their eggs, washing their eggs, boxing em up and as it turns out, driving them around until they are all gone. Full circle. I love the little biddies. They do make me laugh. So cantankerous and just rock-like in their intellect. But, what a community of ladies. A hen house, all the time. A hen party. A gaggle. They form little packs, hierarchy is very strong with them. There are many first wives, but we call them badass bitches, boss bitches. Loud, yes, and strong. Weirdly aggressive in the watching of the egg collection. Someone pecks my leg constantly while I stand there. Not especially effective against me, but certainly annoying. everyone has their time in the box, i think. motherhood is a part of it. and loss. and complacency, and acceptance in a way. bother. dash.

be careful though. they’ll kill you and eat your innards if you let your guard down. Yes they will. the fluffy nutters.

and five.

wow. so, there that one is.

sorry, not sorry.



photo of chicken
Thats a rooster, that one. None of those in my henhouse. Zero. Photo by Kirsten Bühne on

five minutes, the first.

I’m struggling lately, with grief, loneliness, the feeling that I’m not doing enough, that things are too busy, too slow, that my thoughts and feelings are not what I am proud of. I’m having flashes of bitterness, and want everyone to know it, so I feel less of a sham and a liar. I can tell you to find the beauty out there, but if I’m all pestilence and shame, who am i?

so yes, this is extreme but I’ve given myself the task of five minutes to write and post it. why? i can’t find the reason in it, myself, but I’m going to force it, force the five-minute higglepiggle of words and hope that I find something in it to truly put my attention on.

believe it or not, it’s only been a little under two minutes and my fingers can fly.

I’ll go back before posting and fix the typos. (in coming back, now, i figure to explain: i can do absolutely anything for five minutes, so maybe this will help me get my fingers back in order…I’m not saying I’ll produce anything more exciting than limp lettuce, but it’ll be OUT of me, and that is a good place for some of this sh*t to be…)

but this is what i’m looking at: my slippers, looking prim and pointing themselves at the fire. maybe i should make one. its rapidly getting dark, and while i can still see the gold leaves on the tree outside the window, it is technically night and i won’t leave the house again.

the kids are away, so the candy wrappers next to my slippers are mine. there is no excuse. no one to roll my eyes at for their slovenly ways. who raised them anyhow? who raised me? have i been raised, in truth? have i ?

there’s a small soccer ball under the table and I’m thinking about ted lasso, and how it’s so sweet to watch what might be an actually good character, on tv, like, as something we should emulate or something, rather than a Kardashian or her fucking insane ex-husband.

why we feed the bad and angry wolves rather than the sweet curled up ones? i will never know.

such as it is,

love love,


white chick on cabbage
And this photo? Why not? Photo by Toni Cuenca on

Listing. and Work.

There’s a lot of ways to take that title: Is she adrift? Is she leaning too far to the side? Has the ballast shifted? Will she hit the curb when she turns the corner? Is something for sale?

yes. all of that. (no, my house is not for sale). plus, and also, I am going to make a list.

  1. phone shit is truly addictive and I do sometimes feel that i am wasting my life swapping things for things, and I know it is a symptom of my generation and those after me, but I’ve taken better care of my kids in this regard than I have myself, and I’m not doing well at figuring it out.
    I think its part of why I like the farm and garden labor that I do so much, it is freeing me up to think and be creative. i get to use my brain free of the bullshit of a larger society. its just me pulling weeds in the last of the october sun.
  2. I work alot of jobs right now, (4) but make very little money. BUT I’M STILL ABLE TO MAKE IT TO THE OCCASIONAL SOCCER GAME AND THE FUCKING BUS ARRIVAL. because i am the mom. insert roar. But I was told this week it is not real work because of that piddling wage and slotted together formation. It is an Ikea bureau of a work life. How do you address that? I mean it seriously. Not in a romantically ideal way, but in a very no-nonsense way. Is my work really less ‘real’ because it is not salaried? I’m not even in rant mode. I just want to know how to explode the system which has my value to others tied to a salary. Give me something to say. GIVE ME SOMETHING TO SAY. (and goddamnit, if you tell me to get a job, i will find you and pinch you in a painful place.)
  3. my flower stand in the front yard is done for the year. Its even been moved to its winter place. I feel a sort of grief about this. This was my first real garden and I deeply loved it. I had a lot of help with setting up the fencing, and the plants, and my kids were in charge of much of the dirt movement. I have a tremendous amount of appreciation for that. Community love. And I want to double it in the spring. DOUBLE. I will need help again, and I’m leaning into it, ready to give away flowers at the drop of a hat. (listing towards…)
  4. Some of the basil I’ve brought into the house for the winter is not the typical Italian cooking basil with the lovely bumply leaves. It smells of bubblegum, and just looking at it fills me with the smell and I’m calmer. I don’t know which one it is but I found a link for all the kinds, here. This should be in all the places. The classrooms, the offices, the factories. Plus, rosemary is here. Get your nose up in it, folks.
  5. I need time to think. It is clear to me. When I stare off into the space around me, I think its what the meditators get. My brain moves in metaphors, scenes. There is even dialogue sometimes. It comes in, and flows out. I don’t get wound up, mostly, and I appreciate the hell out of myself. The dynamism. If I’m unappreciated in my daily life, hello kids, then at least I have the dappled shade of my brain unfettered. If only I can remember to get my staring off into the wilds done every day, if not every hour. if only.

I’m done with the listing for today. well, momentarily. Today I wear a delivery girl hat, bringing eggs and produce to the people. Food, babies. There should not be much staring off into the wilds while driving, though it does lend itself to a distracted form of thought, it does.

Love to you all. Hope your work satisfies.


person in red long sleeve shirt holding white flowers
Photo by Anna Shvets on

These things.

These are the things I’ve written lately, or said out loud, that I have liked, and liked a lot.

  1. My work life is a pile of feathers.
  2. You can’t actually hold on to anything. Thats the illusion. The struggle is in wanting to hold on, when you can’t, even though it hurts. You can’t. You’re grasping at waves. Whatever it is, its already gone.
  3. My creative life is in a cave in the cliff wall, somehow managing to be dry and warm despite being just meters from a stormy sea.
  4. When I am old, I want the kitchen table to remind me of my children, for my memory to roll easily through the past.
  5. Pick up the phone before it is too late. Call the elderly man who reminds you of your loss. Call his familiar voice and hear an old familiar story. Let it be so. Suck in the things he needs to apologize for and grovel for. He will not and doesn’t need to know he should. It makes no difference now. It just doesn’t. When you imagine all the perfect things said, said to perfection, it still just doesn’t matter, doesn’t change a thing, and somehow, the fact that I am carrying this, even as a fleeting thought, is the image of absurdity.

There it is. A list of somethings rather than nothings. A pile of feathers indeed.

close up shot of a wet feather on the rocks
Photo by Павел Гавриков on